


Gunpowder and a Spider Lily

by Alahnore



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alahnore/pseuds/Alahnore
Summary: His appearance was always impeccable. His eyes always faraway, and beneath the subtle handsome cologne was the acrid, sour scent of death.





	Gunpowder and a Spider Lily

Something that always caught Akira’s quiet eye was consistency. It was invaluable when it came to not just learning the ins and outs of Leblanc and even own his friends, but it assisted in the infiltration of Palaces. Even the chaotic Mementos had a sense of consistency to it. Once consistency was memorized, it made it all the more simple to spot the flaws, the mishaps and slip ups.

He noticed it since he first was within arm’s length of Goro Akechi. That brief moment in the TV station, friendly banter broken abruptly like a callously dropped mirror. Akira always took in the full picture when he met someone new; a reflex he developed after his persecution. Akechi was a handsome man: soft of voice but piercing conviction. Sharply dressed and deeply attentive to detail. Beneath the glittering TV persona was something far more subdued.

Far more real.

Akira paid it little mind at first, he could admit. But when the run-ins became more frequent than in-frequent, he kept the details in mind. Always sharp. Always soft-spoken. His hair was always styled the same to the exact strand, his face set in the same expression like it were carved into him. Sometimes the cologne changed, but it was always a subtle pleasing scent that went along with the package. 

When he started showing up in Leblanc the consistencies changed slightly. At the bar Akechi looked more faraway than usual. His eyes focused on the cup in front of him but it wasn’t the coffee holding his attention. Amidst the brews and simmer of curry, beneath the lingering cigarette smoke and the ever pleasant artificial scent of sandalwood, Akira started to pick up the ever-present smell of gunpowder.

It followed Akechi. Even when Akira could tell he bathed–and probably as impeccably as he dressed–there was no missing it. After those first few run-ins at Leblanc, and especially at Leblanc, Akira could smell it. Under all that carefully composed man was something sharp, hot, metallic and acidic. It reminded Akira of the fireworks festival, where the bursts were short but beautiful, and destroyed all too easily by a million uncaring raindrops. The lights and sour smoke, all washed away clean. But no shower washed it from Akechi.

Akira leaned in slightly closer sometimes, when he came home late and there Akechi was. He’d walk by, a bit closer than usual, catching a whiff of the week’s cologne and that memory personified. It was consistent.

What Akira didn’t realize, not yet, was the scent wasn’t meant to invoke the memory of a ruined firework. To Akechi, who long since was used to the disgusting smell, it was a constant stain on his being. A reminder. A spot so infamously unable to be washed out. His faraway eyes were on the half-drunk coffee in his cup, watching it shimmer and cool and barely noticing when Akira passed him by at times. Passed him by like the time, the memories, the people.

Gunpowder was the last scent he had of his mother. It was only fitting he would wear it; one day, someone was going to smell it and realize what it really symbolized. What it truly meant.


End file.
